


Auquel On Se Rendre

by All_Terrain_Nerd



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: AU-gust 2020, Alpha Bucky Barnes, Alpha Harry Osborn, Alpha Matt Murdock, Alpha Norman Osborn, Alpha Tony Stark, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Beta Natasha Romanov, Beta Steve Rogers, F/M, M/M, Mutual Pining, Omega May Parker, Omega Peter Parker, Or Is It?, Peter is 17, Who's to Say
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:07:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25697032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/All_Terrain_Nerd/pseuds/All_Terrain_Nerd
Summary: As the longwinded war carries on, uncertainty reigns in the kingdom of Valmer.Matt's an advisor to the king, Peter's a prince, and I'm not running on enough iced coffee to come up with an adequate summary. Updates whenever I feel like it.Day 1: Fantasy AU
Relationships: Matt Murdock/Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 5
Kudos: 28
Collections: AUgust 2020





	Auquel On Se Rendre

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Technically I'm doing this for the AU-gust event, though I have to admit that it's been sitting in my Google Docs for an embarrassing amount of time. I'm hoping this event encourages me to pump out more chapters, but we'll see what happens. Anyways, any questions or concerns, feel free to ask.
> 
> Rating and tags to change in the future as I see fit or remember to do so.

It rains. It seems to do a lot of that these days. It was nice at first, to feel the gods’ own anxiety mirroring that of their mortal kingdom, but after a while, it began to feel like a taunt. 

There was no flooding in fields nor forests nor lakes nor cities—the most brilliant of alphan engineers designed the irrigation long ago, so the people have never known nor never will know fear in that regard.

No, the gods needn’t threaten the world below to taunt its inhabitants. The taunt lays in the shields that return from the West, glistening and cracked, broken and accompanied by those poor souls who seem to be much in the same condition. They glisten and shine like something out a painting or tapestry, but that is a lie that all can see through. 

A shield with paint chipped beyond recognition is laid next to the alpha covered in burns so extensive that he can barely move. A shield with a warped metal rim is next to another whose legs will never control a horse again. 

The townspeople watch from the streets, looking for some semblance of hope, be it in the form of a wave, a nod, just the meeting of eyes. They’ve long given up on the anticipation of a victorious banner or a squadron riding in with the same shining armor and wide smiles with which they departed so long ago. 

They receive none. 

—:||:—

The atmosphere of the castle had changed in response to the raven that arrived a few days ago; Matthew did not need eyes to know, though he supposes he has other ways. 

The favor of War has yet to improve. It had been many moons since Matthew’s return from the front lines. He served in the light as a strategist, under the cowl as more. A few alphas on the council jest that his return home was the mark of the change in the tide. A mark that he truly was a man of the gods. 

He’s always been a devout man; a boyhood spent in the royal chapel tends to lead to that. His father was only a blacksmith, so Matthew spent his youth in the stables, learning to care for and ride the beasts, even after the accident that brought his father his squiredom and his name recognition. Shortly afterward, the kingdom was plunged into war, and with it, John Murdock.

A young Matthew was watched over by Father Lantom of the royal cathedral while he was gone, though that temporary situation was made more substantial by news of Squire John’s valiant death.

Word had gotten around about the poor orphan who’d been blinded saving an elderly man. King Howard encouraged his alpha heir to learn religion and spend time amidst the poor and broken to bolster his image, though he hadn’t anticipated Anthony finding a tactician and advisor in the company of his charity. After the boy’s education had finished, the king formally invited him to stay at the castle to serve as something of a cooling saucer for Anthony’s whims and brash nature. His usefulness was an unexpected bonus to the positive gossip his “saving” had accrued. 

—:||:—

Matt walks the long halls. His boots are soft against the cold stone, a habit left over from his days of battle even as his ornate cane audibly taps along in front of him. There are few people about in the castle at this hour, though the sounds of their snores and various activities fill his ears if he opens his mind. 

It’s not the first night he’s wandered these halls in deliberation. It’s not the first time he’s been forced to deliberate impossible decisions in the midst of this war. King Anthony can be heard pacing and tinkering in his chambers.

Matthew had made something of a spectacle during the war council that afternoon. He usually prefers to keep to himself, listening for reactions and noting any signs of deceit or malice so that he might confer with the Lady Natasha and the king. Bringing his fist hand down hard against the table isn’t something of which he’d like to make a habit.

The Decivian forces had been steadily pushing them back for a moon, anticipating and deflecting almost every attack. No matter what technologies came from the Valmeric laboratories, nothing seemed to matter. Moral was low amidst the soldiers’ ranks, despair was thick in the air of the council room, and hopelessness seemed to batter the doors of every noble to peasant.

But then a single raven had come, bearing a message with the intentions of peace talks. The council had gone back and forth, arguing the likeliness of a trap or the possibility of it just being a distraction. Matthew had been content to sit back and listen, occasionally giving some insight or correcting some misinformation, but that had been before Lord Osborn had mentioned the omega prince.

“He’s come of age,” he said with faux carelessness. “Perhaps a marriage might be the best course of action.”

Some murmurs of agreement and contemplation were silenced when Matt stood and brought his fist down on the table, uncaring of the fracture for which Dr. Banner would scold him later.

“He’s just a boy,” he’d snarled with more emotion than he’d let himself display in years. “We are not going to sell him in order to reopen your trade routes.”

The exchange echoes in Matt’s mind as he walks. Why would he be so brazen as to show his hand, a hand which he himself does not see? He’s here on charity; he and everyone else knows. Sure, merit has been displayed time and time again, but against the land, soldiers, allies, and resources that the Osborns supply, he will be abandoned every time, shut out of the only place he can make an impact. His place was and will forever be in the shadows, disregarded and unheard, a subtle sway to opinions and a loyal attendant to the throne. 

He’d been ten when Omega Prince Peter was born, a year after the accident, three before he moved into the castle. He helped teach and care for the babe before he left with Knight-Captain Rogers to the front. When he returned, the boy was newly sixteen and infinitely curious. Matt had thought at first that the omega was simply tired of being cooped up for too long, so he asked questions about the world and would hardly leave his side, a fact his nurse, affectionately “Aunt May”, did not particularly care for. After enough time that the interest should have receded, Matt was forced to face the realization that the prince was holding him in a not quite appropriate level of affection. Of course, it had required his acquaintance—and occasional bedpartner—Lady Natasha telling him outright while they recovered from a particularly rough night.

Matt pushes the heavy door to the sequestered medicinal garden, making a face as its antediluvian hinges groan and would alert any nearby people to his location. As he sits on the worn stone bench in front of the small shrine to Agmony, he lets himself sigh.

“Agmony,” he begins quietly, the words a fixture in his consciousness. “Mother of gods, earth, and life, blessèd art thou amongst omegas and women, guide my wretchèd soul to thine embrace.”

He pauses and just breathes in the air around him, letting his Devil’s gift pull forth the quietest hum of insects and the most minute aspect of the lavender’s scent.

“Something’s coming, and I do not know if I’m strong enough to face it. I know too much, yet never enough. Men are dying as I ponder and play diplomat to forces within my own walls. Anthony trusts me, but what if it’s all for naught?” He presses the heels of his palms into his unseeing eyes. “What purpose do I serve if—”

He cuts himself off short as the door creaks open and the loveliest scent of wild honeysuckle and rain perforates his shields. He quickly gets to his feet and bows his head.

“Omega Prince.”

“Alpha Lord Murdock,” the little prince responds with a put upon primness, daintily putting his impossibly soft hand into Matt’s much larger one for the customary greeting.

Matt chuckles after lowering his hand away from his lips.

“Your Royal Highness, there is no need for such formalities with myself.”

He rests his hand to his side, only half trying to push the memory of Peter’s touch from his mind. For his own part, Peter holds his hands in front of him, slowly tracing a line on the back of his hand where Matt’s unshaved chin had rubbed.

“Yet,” he says with a smile that does not quite hide the lingering scent of sadness, “you insist upon such titles with every one of our reconventions, my lord.”

Peter makes his way to the bench and sits beside Matt, making his actions purposefully loud so that Matt knows his permission is granted.

“Very well,” he responds with a matching smile as he sits again, leaving more room between them than Peter had set up to be. “If I might be so bold as to ask, Peter, what has you away from your chambers at this hour?”

They sit in silence for a moment, though not one of exceeding comfort.

“I was talking to Lord Osborn—Harry, I mean—and he said some troubling things.”

Matt tried not to stiffen too obviously at the mention of the young alpha. Norman had been itching for a match since their births and hadn’t bothered to conceal this. Nevertheless, the boys had grown up together as close friends despite expectations. Still, Matt had caught the scent of interest on him a few times before.

“Father keeps me away from the war—and I do not begrudge him for it!—but is it not my right to know what Fate may lay in the future of my country, of my people?”

Peter deflates with a sigh.

“I study and read and discuss and do all that I can to prepare myself, but I never know what for. I can only convince you and Lady Natasha to tell me so much.”

“Would that I could tell you everything, would that I could sneak you into council meetings,” Matt replies with a chuckle. “Your father is scared. Everyone is. You mean the world to so many, and in a time of so much uncertainty, it is instinct to protect those we love.”

“I understand,” he says with just a hint of frustration. “I just… am I doing enough?”

It doesn’t feel like the question is directed at him, so he leaves it floating in the space between them. The light trickle of water from the shrine and all the life around them serve as mediators to their silence. After an indeterminate amount of time, Peter turns to Matt and boldly places his soft hand on top of Matt’s.

“I’m to go riding with Harry and Michelle tomorrow, and with James, of course.” Matt nods and skews up his face a little at the mention of the omnipresent bodyguard who waits silently by the doors. “Would you care to join us?”

“I’d love to,” Matt capitulates after a heady inhale of Peter’s hopeful scent. How anyone can deny the prince a thing utterly escapes him. He beams up at him with all the radiance of the sun.

“Well, I look forward to our next meeting, my lord,” Peter says teasingly as he stands, hand still resting on Matt’s.

“As do I, my prince,” Matt replies lowly before bringing his fingers to his lips for the final time that evening. “Pleasant dreams.”

Peter rakes his eyes over Matt’s body one last time before making his way over to his guard. The ancient doors shut behind them, and Matt’s lets a sigh fall from his lips.

“Mother, I feel Sujess toy with the winds, but I do not know what Fate hath woven within them. Please…” he hesitates before putting words to his soul’s aching desires. “Give me the strength to do what is right.”


End file.
